


I get so high every time you look at me

by LittlePsycho15



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is a pining mess, M/M, PWP, Post Time Skip, Public handjob/masturbation, atshn fever week day 1, hinata too - Freeform, mention of alcool, they're shameless, what did i do i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePsycho15/pseuds/LittlePsycho15
Summary: «This isn’t Rio.» he repeats with a sly smile, emptying his cup and leaving it on the nearest table, gripping harder on his arm, «but it could be.»
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Kudos: 29
Collections: AtsuHina Fever Week 2021





	I get so high every time you look at me

Osamu asked him _ you alright? _ , and he huffed back  _ why wouldn’t I be _ and his twins glared at him. He said  _ that’s not an answer. _

It wasn't not like he could say he was fine, eh. There was, in fact, something that he couldn’t quite file under “alright”, but he wouldn’t tell Osamu that in a million years.

It's the way he holds the ball in his hands, putting a little pressure with his nails. It’s his Adam’s apple going up and down when he’s thristy and they don’t have much time within breaks so he gulps the water from his bottle. It’s the sun rays entering from the upper windows, turning his eyes caramel, hazel-nut, golden, bringing Atsumu closer to an edge.

It’s the curve of his neck when he sweats, sparkling bright. It’s his hair a little darker on the tips and a little lighter at the roots. It’s his slim hips wrapped in those tiny black pants.

(But who are we kidding? It’s his back, his chest, the veins on the back of hands, his still tanned skin, his lashes, his lips - christ,  _ those lips _ -, his abs, his freckles, his slightly protruding canine, his ass, his cock bulging in his boxers while they change after practice and Atsumu can’t really see it, not for too long, just a glimpse with the corner of his eyes while he’d like to cry out his frustration and wonders how did he get to that point.)

  
  
  


_ «Pathetic.» _ , Omi-kun scolds him, on a sunny, chilly winter day. They’re standing outside a konbini with few bags. «You look like a dog hoping for a treat.» He looks at him with half-lidded eyes, pouting, and Atsumu thinks he hasn’t smiled in weeks.

«I take his as a compliment.» that’s his answer, «Dogs are cute.» 

It can’t be that everyone noticed it but Hinata himself. It’s not possible that he doesn’t even have a little doubt about it, an overall idea, the tiniest sensation that if he was to open his mouth and say literally  _ anything  _ Atsumu would throw himself at his feet.

(Okay, maybe Omi-kun’s right.)(But  _ why _ doesn't Atsumu care about that?)

Sakusa snorts but doesn’t answer. Maybe he likes dogs too. Atsumu is too busy with his feelings to care about that. What if Hinata liked dogs too? They could talk about that - they could talk about the moon, frozen pizza, escalators, fountains, soft toys, whatever.

He listened to Shouyou’s voice and was bewitched, keeping himself still in another dimension created by his words: his words that got under his skin, between his bones, resting on his muscles, pouring in the hollow corner of his body, filling him whole.

They walk quickly because the bags are heavy with all those energy drinks Bokuto wanted, and they head back to the car. He throws the bags in back and he slouches on the driver’s seat. Sakusa sighs dramatically.

With his hands gripping on the steering wheel and his bad habit of speeding through each turn, he can’t help but think about it.

  
  
  


Much like a film consumed by time, Atsumu thinks about the way he moved during matches, out of breath, calves contractes, shouting his names from the other side of the court like a desperate call. If Atsumu was a little more mean - if Atsumu wasn’t searching for approval - he could blackmail him: he could make him understand he has to power to finally set him free, to let him fly at his maximum potential, while he tells himself he can be something apart from Shouyou.

Just who was Atsumu Miya before Hinata Shouyou?

  
  
  


The room is dark, barely lighted with coloured spotlight, the music is deafening, sweated bodies clashing against one another. He can see why Omi-kun immediately refused Bokuto’s offer of going out.  _ Over my dead body _ , he said. That, or the bathrooms stinking like vomit. But Sakusa couldn’t foresee this much.. 

«Atsumu-san» he hears. Against his ears, Shouyou’s warm breath sends shivers down his spine. He stood on his tiptoes to reach him, grabbing his back shirt. He can feel his fists against his abdomen.

( _ Calm down,  _ he tells himself,  _ calm down calm down calm down.)  _

Hinata has no trouble invading someone else’s space. There’s always an arm thrown on someone's shoulder, an elbow in someone’s stomach, a leg entangled to another. It wasn’t bothering until he started doing it with him too - his skin burning hot against his. Atsumu has to pretend he’s fine with it. He has to pretend it doesn’t matter. Shouyou acts like this with everyone. It has no ulterior meaning.

«Let’s dance» Shouyou orders, pulling him on the dancefloor, filled with so many people. Atsumu takes another shot, the alcohol burning down his throat. He could scream when Shouyou hurls himself at him, in an uncoordinated dance that keeps they’re body pressing together continuously. He throws his head back and laughs - the light hits his face, shines against his neck, his chest, he looks all white now, then pink green blue orange black and white again. Atsumu head spin. Shouyou looks like a mythical being, like he doesn’t belong to this world anymore.

He runs a hand through his hair, greasy with sweats, and he keeps him close. He doesn’t know what to do.  _ Worse _ , he doesn’t know what not to do. To be fair, right now he knows nothing. He barely remembers how to breathe. 

Shouyou feels like a dream, like a vision. He gets even closer, unsatisfied, his hands gripping his biceps while he presses tightly to him, they’re bodies perfectly adhering.

«Relax.» he whispers to his ear, lazy and amused and tempting - he can’t even do that, Atsumu doesn’t know anything, he never knew a thing before Shouyou came into his life. Who knows how he lived that long without him. «You’re so tense.» he continues, and Atsumu feels a featherlight touch through his spine, underneath his clothes, his fingertips tracing imaginary patterns. (Maybe those patterns are real. Maybe they’ll lead him wherever his sanity was lost).

Atsumu huffs, embarrassed, and Shouyou giggles. He never stopped laughing. His hands never stop, roaming his back. Then he’s dancing again, a kaleidoscope of lights meant to shine just for him, a delirium of colours sounds sensations smells - his hands, his hips, his knees, his hair, his lips, everything mixed up with the alcohol running through his veins. To make sure he can’t escape his fatal grip, Shouyou digs his nails into his skin.

Atsumu growls against his ear and Shoyou looks at him like he’s about to unravel every secret of the universe, like some sort of oracle, like he’s kindly pretending to be interested in him.

«I know what you want.», he reveals while he dances, laughs, leaves scratches in his back. 

Atsumu hasn't opened his mouth for a while: he supposes he lost his ability to speak. He supposes Shouyou must have reached his limit too - as Atsumu tries to hide, Shoyou can’t help but put his feelings on public display. He doesn’t meet halfway.

Then Atsumu leans closer, closer to his shiny, plump lips, so red for the overwhelming heat, and he kisses him slowly, biting him, his tongue slipping in his mouth, a mess of spit and broken whines.

«Were you expecting this?» he asks, out of breath, his voice husky and low, his head spinning. Shouyou licks his lips, spares him a lethal glare, removes his hands from his shirt to get a hold of his nape.

«Yeah.», his moth forming a perfect oval as he speaks. He smells like strawberry and mint. «I know you.», he comments, rolling his eyes and nodding in sync with the music. «I know you very well» He rolls his hips and their crotches collide, the contact amazing and catastrophic at the same time.

Atsumu thinks he must have assumed some sort of drug. This can’t be happening for real. Shouyou closes his eyes and follows the rhythm, his hips still crushing against his. He takes a long sip from the cup he’s been holding for at least twenty minutes now.

«This isn’t Rio.» Atsumu hisses, just to remember how to talk, just to fill the awkward silence between two kisses. Who knows how clubs are in Rio. He can’t even picture them.

«No, it isn’t» Shouyou agrees, slowly cracking his eyes open, his lashes projecting long shadows on his cheekbones, his pupils dilated. He gives him an intoxicating look, filled with secrets meant to be revealed. Atsumu doesn’t care, he only wants to kiss him again,

Shouyou abruptly turns his head and he seems to be looking at something, but Atsumu can’t understand what, since there’s so many people, sofas, shiny poles people are dancing against, the bar area where people are still getting wasted. «This isn’t Rio.» he repeats with a sly smile, emptying his cup and leaving it on the nearest table, gripping harder on his arm, «but it could be.»

Atsumu starts understanding what 's happening once it’s too late. Which is absolutely a shotty excuse, because his brain is way too fucked to be able to stop anything.

«Come on» Shouyou calls him, from the pedestal he’s already on, stretching a hand toward him, his chest furiously rising and falling.

The thing is, they’re both exhibitionist, two impossibly egocentric people who always need to be in the spotlight. It’s a mess. It really is a mess.

«How much did you drink?» he shouts, because the music is too loud and the blood in his veins pumps too fast. Is he going to die? Is he going to ascend? He circles his waist with one arm, the other holding to the pole to stabilize them. Their lips crush again.

«Not enough.» he answers, his mouth on his neck, his back arching as he clings on the pole between them, his legs crossing on it. He smiles as someone shouts at them from the dance floor. He grabs the collar of his shirt and kisses him obscenely, in front of everyone, open mouths and tongues swirling, for everyone to see. 

Everything’s pulsing: his temple, his lips, his hard dick, his nerves under his skin. Atsumu takes his shirt off and throws it somewhere in the crowd.  _ We’re really putting up a show _ , he thinks, ecstatic; Shouyou seems ready to devour him. He touches his chest, his abs, he roams the aching skin of his back, his scratches getting deeper, more possessive. He glares at those around them, a silent warning. Someone whistles as Atsumu spins around the pole, drinking their adoration, flexing his abs for the watchers' pleasure and much to Shouyou’s irritation.

(He didn’t know he could have that effect on him. He never hopes he could be- but  _ now _ \- he just wants to drive him crazy.) (He wants him kneeling, begging on his altar, hands joined in a prayer that will never be answered.) (God, he wants to fuck him on that altar.)

Shouyou is not that easy to break - and he’d rather walk through fire than pray, he’d rather be the one staring down like a merciless angel. And Atsumu wants to be stared down so badly.

Shouyou extends his hand, elegant, hipnotic, thick as honey, and squeeze his crotch mindlessly, as he keeps dancing, smiling devilishly, leaving a wet trail of kisses on his pecs. 

Much to his disappointment, Atsumu moves away and flexes to get a drink from a passing tray: there’s a group of girls nearby and he winks at them without saying a word.

«You sure know your way around.» Shoyou comments, his consuming stare burning him, «if properly motivated.» 

He keeps dancing and Atsumu gets lost in his movement, in the curves of his body, in the deafening music, in the blinding lights. When Shouyou flips down, his hair brushing the floor, his t-shirt revealing his stomach, when he thinks they can’t actually go further than that, Shouyou steals his cup and pours the alcohol over his body: Atsumu, bewitched, licks him clean under the lights and he can hear Shouyou’s moans louder than anything else. He runs a hand through his hair to keep him still, and Atsumu sucks and kisses the soft skin right before his belt. 

He gets up and doesn't stop, pouring more on the curve of his neck, on his cleavage, pushes his tongue flat on his skin salty, hot skin and ventures further, he teases a nipple with his tongue, he bites down and Shouyou almost screams. It’s a mess. It’s the apocalypse. It’s the end of the world as he knew it as a new one is born under his teeth, created by Shouyou’s broken moans.

They keep dancing, a tangle of arms and legs and lips and maybe they’re about to die and reincarnate. Christ. He empty his cup in a long last sip - Shouyou is waiting for him with part lips, his tongue out, he waits and Atsumu kisses him and he drinks his alcohol and his spit, he tugs at his hair to lead him once again on his neck.

«More», he begs, torn apart by lust. He brings his hands down, unzipping his pants without a second thought.

«Wait-» Atsumu tries to weakly stop him, his will numbed and corrupted, his voice shaky.

« _ No _ » is the final answer, unshakable, unquestionable, as his fingers slide in his boxer and he massages his testicoles with his callouses fingertips. Atsumu sighs against his neck, mind completely gone, not even caring if people can actually see them.

Shouyou circles his length, stroking it up and down, relentless, his roaring laughs are sweet against his ears, his hips move and the contact of his sensitive skin against the rough jeans is so exciting he could come immediately. 

«What are we even doing» he whispers, his breath heavy, his hands busy with Shouyou’s pants until his cock is no longer restricted.

He wants to suck him off in front of everyone. When he lightly brushes his erection, he’s ure Shouyou he’s thinking about it too.

Atsumu touches his tip, the shaft, the base, he comes back and does it again carefully, he suffocates his own moans against his shoulder, he feels Shouyou’s hands on him, the pleasure invading his whole body.

They squirm, body sweated, the pedestal slippery with the alcohol they poured down. He can’t take this anymore. He reached his limit. There can’t be anything else. No more. His heart can’t take it.

Shouyou takes their dick and pumps them together, against each other, the friction is heavenly, it’s the nirvana, he keeps going, chasing after a suffocating orgasm. Atsumu ruts in Shouyou's hand shamelessly, too gone to care, completely in ruin.«In front of all these people...», he complains, and the worst thing is he’s completely thrilled, the mere thought is pushing him to an edge he wants to jump from. They’ve been dancing around for too long. 

Shouyou has the idea of a madman, his darker locks fall on his face and his eyes are darker and hungrier than ever. He kisses him, moving his hands faster and faster, he moans obscenely and they must at least hear them , that’s for sure - they must see them between the artificial smoke and the dimming lights.

«Don’t you like it better like this?» he asks, a swirl of featherlight fingertips on his cheek, and a fucked out look, handsome and lethal and wild and Atsumu just wants Shouyou to annihilate him. They kiss again, their lips sore and burning and plump.

Shouyou comes with a scream, spraying his chest white, few drops reaching his cheek, other on the pole itself. He licks his own cum from his skin, his tongue on his eyelids, on his chin, oh so sweet, and he keeps stroking his erection whispering on his ear  _ come for me come for come for me. _

He looks at the crown who’s been dancing for hours on end, without even stopping, tireless and young and lewd and Shouyou tells him  _ come for us. _

And now there’s so much more - something greater, the dying cry of his soul, a spiritual orfy he didn’t notice before.  _ Come for us. _

And so he comes, getting dirty, dirting Shouyou. He lets himself go, abandoning in his tired arms. Shouyou moves his lips but Atsumu barely gets what he’s saying.

«We put up a show they’ll never forget.» 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so happy I managed to write the first fic for this event! I was looking forward it so much and I can't wait to read all the other atsuhina fics! The original idea was completely different and at some point things got out of hand-, anyway, in the end I am quite proud of this stuff. I hope you liked it!


End file.
